


NEXT STOP G-SPOT

by Tae_Amo



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Sex, Taekai like it trashy, Train Sex, taekai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 15:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12820464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tae_Amo/pseuds/Tae_Amo
Summary: Taemin and Jongin fuck on a crowded Japanese subway. That's it that's the fic.





	NEXT STOP G-SPOT

**Author's Note:**

> HHahhhahahaha so this is part of Reverie AU but can be read stand alone. Consider this a lil side story. A trashy lil treat. 
> 
> For those of you that have not read Reverie, I think you can gather the context from the fic, just consider Jupiter and Venus organizations similar to the CIA. Taemin and Jongin have been together for a while and like to keep things interesting.

Undercover work isn’t as stressful as he thought it would be—it came a little too easy to him for his own comfort. Taemin recalls all the twofaced bullshit he pulled in high school, remembers how easy lying to fake friends was then as he lies to his fake friends now.

The reassignment landed him in the Japanese branch, _Venus,_ and he went from living the plot of a science fiction movie to a more comprehensible crime drama. He’s waist deep in what Yunho and Changmin dealt with in their yearlong leave from Jupiter and since this reassignment is likely permanent, maybe he can finish what they started. Or at least put a dent in it. He’s not sure yet, he’s only scratched the surface of this organization with confirmed ties to the Yakuza. It seems everyone on his level knows about as much as he does so he won’t be getting anywhere with his new buddies.

He’s in with Sho, Tetsuo, and Kenta enough for them to invite him out tonight. They know him as Tomichi and know he didn’t grow up in the country, so Taemin gets away with his flawed Japanese and overall ignorance. They’re on their way to a new club Kenta mentioned about a week and a half ago because, why not? He doesn’t really get to hang out with people his own age aside from Jongin and a handful of coworkers during office hours. His only complaints so far are that it’s already been a long ass day and that it’s fucking rush hour. Just when Taemin thinks (from his current position sandwiched between a pole and a slightly overweight businessman) that the subway car can’t hold any more people, it stops, and more file in. What the _fuck_.

Sho is a little more comfortable about a pace away, leaving Kenta and Tetsuo to their conversation while he plays idly on his phone, glancing up every so often to smirk at Taemin’s obvious discomfort. Taemin really likes Japan, but this approximate spot is his least favorite place on the god damn planet.

A few minutes go by and a stop offers some relief. Fewer people board than depart and Taemin gains about three quarters of a step of wiggle room. It’s still not ideal but it’s a definite step up.

It’s far too short lived as someone crowds him from behind, once again forcing him nearly all the way up against the support pole. Taemin considers elbowing them in the ribs, but a brief glance to the side tells him maybe don’t do that; the guy is broader and taller than him and this is not a good place for a scrap. He bites down his discomfort and narrows his eyes at Sho, his shoulders shaking as he laughs internally at how Taemin can’t seem to catch a break.

And he really, really can’t. There’s no way in hell the gentle touch tracing over his ass is accidental.

He shoots a glare over his shoulder, the man’s face just out of his view but his larger frame nearly flush against Taemin’s back. To his left are two older women involved in their own hushed conversation, to his right is another man with his back turned with Sho standing just past him, attention still on his phone.

He tries to wriggle away but there is no place to go and now there’s a second hand on him, on his hip, holding him from shimmying his way to Sho. Taemin throws a little attitude in trying to shake him off and that gets him attitude in return, the man groping him hard and urging him harder against the pole. It’s pressing into him, off center enough he could rest his cheek against it (except he won’t, because _ew_ ) and he wraps one hand around it while the other reaches under his jacket. This guy is bigger than Taemin, sure, but Taemin has 44mm of intimidation at his side (his actual Venus issued gun and the harness, his new fake boss didn’t ask where he got it) that has come in handy before.

Taemin has only experienced this once prior and all it took then was for him to hold his badge over his shoulder. The hands came right off; the rest of the subway ride home was comfortable. But here… even if he had his badge on him it’s not like he could risk Sho seeing it.

He needs to be discreet about this, but if everyone is able to ignore the fondling—

“Wow, going right for the gun? No warning?” A low purr against the shell of his ear. Goosebumps ripple through him.

Jongin snakes his other hand over Taemin’s hip. “What’s it gonna take for you to go all cop on me?”

Taemin is _speechless_. They had talked about this a few times, only because they’d heard the stereotypical, sexual things that happen on public transit in Japan. Jongin had never experienced it himself, but he did watch it happen once between two definitely consenting ladies.

When Taemin doesn’t answer he gets one hand roughly kneading his ass and the other fingering its way under the hem of his shirt at his hip, the pad of a thumb stroking the skin right above his dark jeans. This morning as he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Jongin had come up behind him and done this _exact_ thing as he kissed Taemin’s neck good morning. (Even playing with his ass, but that was because Jongin was admiring the novelty Donald Duck underwear.)

Taemin glances at Sho and the others, makes sure the rest of the passengers are still minding their own business. Satisfied the level of privacy is as good as it’s gonna get, Taemin turns his head, catches Jongin’s subtle smirk in his peripheral.

“You _dick_.” The smile widens, exposes teeth. Taemin faces forward again and contemplates in silence. This changes everything.

The pads of Jongin’s fingers trace small circles on his hip as Taemin thinks, his other hand no longer so insistent on his ass. Taemin relaxes against him, but Jongin still has him crowded uncomfortably against the pole—right, Jongin probably can’t really move now, either.

“Hey,” Jongin murmurs, both hands moving to gently rest at Taemin’s hips before he _grips_ , pulling Taemin back while he grinds forward.

Taemin breathes a shaky, quiet huff of a laugh. “Did you come find me because you needed to get off,” He accuses, wiggling his hips a little, getting a thorough feel for how hard Jongin is. He must be wearing something soft and loose.

“What? I missed you. No ulterior motives.” Jongin whispers as he holds Taemin still enough to use him, slowly and shamelessly rutting against him. No ulterior motives. _Right_. Taemin rises on his toes a bit, angles his ass back while he leans heavily against the pole, clutching the metal with both hands. Arousal twists inside him tightly, the feeling of Jongin’s dick against him and the sudden rush from how _someone could be watching_ _this_.

He subtly looks around. No attention is on him, from what he can tell.

Taemin steals a glimpse over his shoulder at Jongin biting his lip as he concentrates on their hips. He stops grinding when Taemin touches one of his hands and guides it from his hip to his crotch. Jongin instinctively molds his palm and fingers over the shape of Taemin’s dick and presses, teases him until Taemin’s breath catches, finding just the right amount of pressure to apply for Taemin to feel it through the denim. It may be his shame keeping his dick from swelling rock hard but Jongin doesn’t have the same reservations; they’ve been together long enough Taemin can feel Jongin all wound up and ready to go. He wants Taemin at his level, and Taemin is fast approaching as the heel of Jongin’s hand drags over the crown, his palm stroking his shaft and the cold metal zipper of Taemin’s jeans digging in strangely along it. The material is harsh and Taemin wants it _gone_.

His heart begins racing from the thrill as he hesitantly undoes his pants, eyes still flicking about to ensure no one is watching.  Just as Jongin impatiently jams his hand in to grab Taemin over his underwear, the crowd in the car shifts, and they both freeze.

The human wall around them inches closer, making it even harder to move but giving them more cover. Jongin’s breath is hot at the shell of his ear as he strokes curiously, gently along Taemin’s length, and between Jongin and this fucking pole, Taemin can’t move and force the friction he wants. Instead, he covers Jongin’s hand with his own and shows him what he wants.

Taemin’s brows knit and he struggles to stay aware of those around him, of the frustrated sounds Jongin is nearly pulling out of him. He does his best to stay silent, even as Jongin stops what he’s doing to maneuver Taemin’s dick out into the open. He wants Jongin’s large hand enveloping his dick, his slender fingers and calloused palm touching every inch of it—covering it from the number of eyes that could be watching, maybe, but the implication, seeing the _movement_ would be enough.

He almost yelps when his cock touches the ice cold support pole, and Jongin breathes a quick apology against his ear. He wraps his hand around Taemin’s girth, carefully positioning his fingers, practically cradling his dick to keep it from happening again. The warmth of his other hand leaves Taemin, disappearing only for a second before coming back into his view and offering him a small foil packet. Taemin quickly rips it open (slightly shaking his head, amused, when he’s reminded they have several hundred of these to-go packets of lube in a cupboard at home, courtesy of Baekhyun) and haphazardly drips the contents on his shaft, getting some on Jongin’s fingers before dropping the mostly empty foil carelessly to the floor. With only a few languid pumps, Jongin has his palm and Taemin’s dick fairly covered.

Then Jongin jerks him off as if they weren’t in public.

It’s rough and rapid. Taemin can hear the lewd wet _squelch_ of each slide, loud enough for him but maybe not anyone else. This is how they do it in the shower in the morning; when they’re both running late for work but crave each other enough they don’t care. Taemin’s body slumps against the pole and he hangs his head. Jongin starts grinding against him from behind and Taemin wishes he could see Jongin move. It feels familiar, like how they dance with no space between them in clubs packed just as tight as this subway car, in clothes that make it easy to rut each other to orgasm.

Taemin already feels it rushing to the surface and suddenly grips Jongin’s wrist. Jongin stops immediately and leans close to whisper, his broader frame easily overtaking Taemin’s own. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of replying, with both hands Taemin slowly pushes his pants down just below the curve of his ass, careful to avoid any obvious shuffle of clothing despite _everything_. Jongin’s heat leaves him for a moment, maybe to look between them and verify what Taemin is doing, what he’s asking for. With a quiet exhale at the back of Taemin’s neck Jongin is back on him, his still clothed dick fitting much better in the cleft of Taemin’s ass. Jongin is hesitant, but the slight movement of his hips tells Taemin he’s just as desperate. Of course he is—Taemin imagines he was splayed out on the couch already in pajamas when he decided to jerk off, and halfway through decided he wanted a fucking _audience_.

“Are you sure?”

The question has Taemin shuddering. He hooks his thumbs in his waistband and pulls his underwear down. They fucked the night before and do so regularly. He shouldn’t need much prep.

He pushes his ass back, rubs against Jongin’s erection until Jongin’s hands grab his hips. Jongin presses his lips to Taemin’s neck in one long kiss before pulling back, taking a stance that is less likely to suggest he’s about to be knuckle deep in the man standing in front of him.

Jongin starts with just leisurely rubbing around the outside of his already sensitive rim, the previous night’s games still fresh, but soon that first digit presses into him and the excitement is nearly a pain in his chest because _they’re really about to do this_.

The first two fingers are a heart pounding blur. His arousal is radiating, deafening. Taemin has managed to keep himself under control with surprising ease. Both hands are back with a vice grip on the pole and Taemin isn’t focusing on the people around him when Jongin prods a third at his rim.

So. Much. _Friction_. It’s not enough lubricant for comfort, but enough Taemin is sure he won't tear. He grits his teeth when all three push past his entrance and loses the fight to keep a breathy, needy moan in. Taemin bites his lip right after, not daring to look around and hoping anyone who may have heard will brush it off. He’s not actually sure how loud he was, and hopefully the hum of the subway masked it.

And it seemed to, for everyone except Sho.

Taemin’s not a complete wreck just yet but he is clutching the support pole and panting, a noticeable flush dusting his cheeks and now a bit of panic in his eyes. The slow twist and drag of Jongin’s fingers against his rim hasn’t stopped and his eyes almost flutter closed, those fingers delving the deepest inside him they’ve been since this started. Jongin knows every inch of him, knows exactly what to do but it’s so much slower and he feels so much more with the thought of someone _seeing_ —

Someone like Sho, who is absolutely watching now. He was mildly concerned at first, unsure of what to make of the strange brand of discomfort on Taemin’s face, but now Taemin is certain he’s seen Jongin. He’s connecting the dots, but Taemin can’t tell if he believes the picture they’re making.

Fingers stroke him _just right_ and Taemin’s eyes screw shut, his mouth falling open with a sharp inhale. Jongin hushes him, soothing and sexy as he buries his face in the curve of Taemin’s neck and brushes his prostate again. Taemin’s head threatens to tip back and he whines behind gritted teeth, the jerk of his body stopped partly by his current confinement, partly by Jongin’s large hand on his hip.

He’s stretched enough Jongin fucks him with consistency and without fear of hurting him. Taemin shuts his eyes and hangs his head, nearly biting his own sleeve to stop any noise from escaping. Jongin hums against him, wetly nips and kisses up his neck to his earlobe and Taemin whines weakly. He’s torn between elbowing him to remind him where they are and continuing to silently love the shit out of what’s happening.

Jongin huffs a quick, quiet laugh and pulls out, but the pads of his fingers stay at Taemin’s entrance, lazily massaging his abused rim. “How are you doing?”

 _How is he doing_. He’s been leaking precum and warm lube onto the subway floor and he’s pretty sure his hands are going numb with all the clenching. Sho has probably seen his dick, or at the very least a flash of one of his many horrible sex faces. His heart is pounding and his face is absolutely burning.

“Fine,” Taemin breathes with a faint smile. Without the distraction of Jongin working him from behind, he’s painfully aware of how hard he is. He wants to drop a hand to his dick—or better yet, have Jongin go back to pumping him relentlessly—either way, they need to speed this up. His stop is six, seven minutes away at best.

Taemin adjusts his pants around his thighs and inches his legs apart as best he can. Jongin doesn’t need another hint. Another foil packet is soon discarded at their feet and Jongin’s hands brush against Taemin as he works, slicking himself and then spreading the excess at Taemin’s hole. Taemin vaguely wonders how many little packets he brought.

All the warning he gets is Jongin’s hand on him, coaxing him up on his tip toes, holding his hips still for a second before Jongin enters him with one slow thrust. Taemin’s shoulders draw up and his whole body tenses and he gapes in a silent scream, putting all his effort into staying mute. Jongin eases forward until Taemin’s ass is flush against his hips and Taemin feels Jongin hang his head, his forehead against the base of Taemin’s neck. After one long exhale Jongin tilts his head up, his lips grazing Taemin’s skin before he stands up straight.

Once Taemin is able to pry his eyes open he drags his gaze to Sho. To Taemin’s surprise (and admittedly his _arousal_ ) Sho is _still watching_.

Taemin offers him a wry smile and brings his index finger to his lips, not making a sound as he shushes him. Sho stares wide-eyed a beat longer before pointedly averting his gaze, at which point Jongin slides out and thrusts back in. It’s a slow, fluid swivel of his hips. Jongin’s a skilled enough dancer he can limit the motions to his lower half, leaving his upper body unassuming, while Taemin sways with every practiced gyration.

Taemin’s grip snaps back to the pole with a particularly heavy drag of cock in his ass, his hand high enough he can shove his face against his forearm. Any lingering self-consciousness is buried under the agonizingly slow dragging of Jongin’s dick along his walls. Keeping his voice down proves to be much more difficult than he imagined and he ends up biting his sleeve, unable to stop the soft whimpers himself. Jongin’s hot breath hits his neck, long exhales in time with his controlled thrusts.

There’s too much going on between trying to stay silent and staying still and getting _fucked_ in the middle of a crowd. Taemin stops biting his sleeve but keeps his mouth smashed against his forearm to muffle his panting and moaning. He realizes his shoulders are trembling but can’t spare anymore concentration to stop.

Jongin speeds up, more eager, more careless with keeping them from smacking together and Taemin doesn’t care enough to remind him. Through the tears pricking at his eyes Taemin catches glimpses of those around them; mostly backs, a few ears angled their way maybe, but no gawkers or passengers that look particularly uncomfortable. He laughs a little into his sleeve. They’re actually getting away with this.

He wants it faster, harder—but they can’t. You’re in public, he reminds himself with renewed thrill. Jongin gets the urgency, his shallow thrusts rubbing him just right over and over and Taemin could probably cum untouched if they had more time but since they _don’t_ and he needs the assurance (but also just really fucking _wants to_ ) Taemin wraps his fingers around his dick. He strokes himself as furiously as he can while trying to limit the movement to just his wrist and forearm.

In stark contrast to the way this all began Taemin feels Jongin spill his wet hot release inside him very suddenly. Pre-orgasm Jongin is hard to miss but this time there was no tensed grip, no desperate, erratic thrusts as he chases his end and chokes on Taemin’s name, no warning whatsoever. Taemin almost doesn’t believe it, but he feels it inside him, Jongin’s dick still stuffed all the way in, keeping it from dripping out of him for the time being.

It takes only a few more focused pumps for Taemin to fall over the edge, too, having just enough sense left to angle his dick between the toes of his boots to avoiding staining a stranger’s pants because of everything that just happened, _that_ would be mortifying.

Jongin’s warm touch moves from his hips to wrap around him, gently tugging him all the way back to the now. Still grasping the pole Taemin leans back into him. They stay like that for a moment—Jongin still buried to the hilt, practically holding Taemin up until the feeling returns to his legs. He can feel Jongin’s heart racing where his chest is now pressing against Taemin’s back; wet, parted lips barely grazing his nape. Jongin’s breath is hot on impact, chilled as it leaves him. It’s all Taemin can think about while he wills himself to compose.

His pants are slowly pulled up for him and Taemin weakly grabs the waistband of his underwear—

Jongin slips out of him, and there goes they only barrier keeping a fresh load from dripping out his ass and down his legs. He tries to clench, keep it in, but it’s too little too late. These boxers are done for. Rest in peace.

They have a minute or two to spare. Taemin finishes buttoning his jeans and manages to twist around to stand nearly chest to chest with Jongin. Taemin stares forward, right at Jongin’s thick lips, his teeth currently digging into the bottom one, his mouth curled at the edges. He knows what he did.

“…I did not think this through.” Jongin murmurs, tentatively reaching to touch Taemin’s hip in a small apology.

“Neither did I.” Taemin smiles softly, then frowns, deepening it to a pout. “…You ruined my Donald Duck underwear. These are limited edition from Disneyworld, you know.”

“You’ll have new ones waiting for you when you get home tonight.”

The pout reluctantly becomes a smile again, and Taemin tips his head back to catch Jongin’s gaze. His eyes turn from passive to challenging, as Jongin often appears, and Taemin returns the stare, leaning a little more into Jongin’s space.

“I’m fucking you, next time.” Taemin purrs the promise. Jongin replies with a low hum of approval, a devious smile pulling at his lips.

 

Taemin rushes off to the public bathrooms as soon as he’s able, calling out for the others to wait for him and hoping they heard him over the subway ruckus. Jongin walked off as if they were strangers and disappeared in the crowd exiting the car, blending untraceably well.

He cleans himself up as best he can and sadly balls up his underwear and tosses it in the garbage. Going without isn’t so bad. Maybe he’ll find one of those vending machines that dispenses lacey panties, let Jongin think he’s getting a treat when Taemin gets home later.

Sho, Tetsuo, and Kenta are hovering nearby when Taemin rejoins them, and the four start off towards… right, a club. He’s not sure he’ll be doing much dancing but he could definitely use a drink or two. Maybe Jongin will be getting a treat after all.

“…Please tell me you knew that guy.”

Taemin turns his head before his eyes follow, staring innocently at Sho as the other seems to brace himself for the answer. He smiles wide, tilting his head. Sho’s a quiet dude. Not shy, he just doesn’t have much to say. Taemin realized soon after meeting him he’s an observer; hardly misses anything happening around him. He should have known Sho would witness it all, would know what was happening despite the thicket of people.

“Before I answer, which is worse: that I knew him and we planned this, or I let stranger fuck me on public transit?”

Sho blinks, looking more worried than disgusted. “The… second one.”

Taemin tosses a dreamy look up along the buildings to the sliver of sky between them and sighs. “…Never seen him before in my life, but I wish I’d asked for his number. He’s been the best one yet.”

“ _Jesus Christ_. _"_


End file.
